Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ryker
Keeping myself busy is the only way to deal with the nerves that threaten to consume me whole.
I’ll admit it, I’m still a mess.
If I stop moving, if I give my mind even a second of quiet, everything from the last five days comes crashing in at once.
The sounds. The scent. The way she clung to us like we were oxygen and she’d been holding her breath her whole life. The way it rewired something deep in my chest that I wasn’t prepared to name yet.
So I cook.
I crack another egg against the side of the bowl, watching the shell split cleanly. The yolk slides in whole, glossy, and intact.
Good. Control where I can get it.
I whisk harder than necessary, forearm tight, shoulder muscles flexing as I work the fork through yellow and white until it blurs together.
The pan is already hot. Butter foams the second it hits, popping and hissing loudly in the otherwise quiet house.
She’s still in the shower.
With Dorian.
That fact lands in my chest every time I think of it. A weight. Not crushing. Not painful. Just… present.
I tell myself I’m fine with it.
I am.
Mostly.
Mostly, I’m just nervous that she’ll say she wants to get back together with him. Where the hell does that leave us?
Nope. Can’t think about that right now.
The house feels different this morning. Not tense like it was before her heat broke. Not brittle, waiting for the next crack.
It feels full. Saturated. Like it soaked up five days of need and sound and scent and came out the other side permanently altered.
Like we did.
I move through the kitchen on autopilot, bare feet against cool tile, drawers opening and closing with familiar ease. I catch my reflection in the microwave door and don’t look away.
I haven’t bothered with a shirt yet. No point. Bite marks are still dark against my chest, scratches crossing my shoulders and ribs like proof of something feral and holy at the same time.
Yeah.
Worth it.
Footsteps sound in the hallway.
Jude pads in like he’s still half-wrapped in steam, hair damp and curling at the ends, glasses perched low on his nose. He’s carrying an armful of fabric like it’s an offering to the domestic gods.
“Everything’s in the washer,” he says. “Sheets. Towels. Clothes. I might have committed war crimes against the lint trap.”
I snort, cracking another egg. “Appreciate it.”
He drops the bundle onto a chair and stretches, arms lifting over his head. His shirt rides up just enough for me to catch sight of the bruise along his ribs. Deep. Finger-shaped.
One she put there.
Pride curls low in my gut before I can stop it.
I slide a mug across the counter toward him. Fresh coffee, still steaming. “Drink.”
He lights up immediately. “You’re a hero.”
I take a sip from my own mug, watching him over the rim. “Also, these sweats you grabbed for me?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. But you need to start going to the gym.”
He blinks at me. “What?”
“Little light on the squats,” I add, deadpan.
He laughs, head tipping back. The sound is like pressure releasing. “I have a better build than you.”
“Debatable,” I say calmly.
He shakes his head, still smiling, and takes a long pull of coffee. His shoulders drop another notch, tension bleeding off him.
The eggs hit the pan with a hiss. I stir, scraping the bottom, letting the motion steady my thoughts.
“How are you?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
He doesn’t answer right away. Stares into his mug like it might tell him something useful.
“I’m okay,” he says finally. Then, quieter. “They’re still in the shower.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a pause. I add, “There’s a very real chance they’re hooking up again.”
Jude snorts. “You sound weirdly calm about that.”
I flip the eggs, watching them fold into themselves. “How do you feel about it?”
That gets his attention. He leans back against the counter, mug cradled in both hands like an anchor.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Everything about this has turned me inside out.”
I nod once. “Same.”
“This is different from Claire,” he says.
I look at him. “Yeah.”
“With Claire, it was…” He searches for the word, jaw tightening. “Contained. There were lines. Rules. This…” He gestures vaguely. “This feels bigger. Messier.”
“And deeper,” I say.
He meets my gaze. “Yeah.”
I turn the heat down under the pan, breathing out slowly. “You noticed how Dorian takes care of her.”
Jude’s mouth quirks. “Kind of impossible not to.”
“He doesn’t just want her,” I say. “He sees her. He’s clearly still so in love with her.”
Jude studies me for a second. “That scare you?”
I think about it. About the way Dorian watches her like she’s something precious and breakable and powerful all at once. About how he stayed. How he didn’t flinch when it got complicated, and it did get complicated very, very fast.
“No,” I say honestly. “It reassures me.”
Jude exhales like he’s been holding that in. “Good.”
I plate the eggs, add toast, and set everything on the table. The simple act of feeding people feels important right now.
“We need to have an honest conversation,” I say. “All of us. About what this is.”
He nods immediately, then winces. “Maybe after the farmer’s market?”
I snort. “Fair.”
He perks up. “Actually, I was thinking. We’ve got that leftover cedar from the Hawthorne job.”
I turn back to him. “Go on.”
“We could build her a small stand. For the market. Something sturdy but nice. Slatted shelves for the buckets, maybe a little chalkboard sign.”
I picture it instantly. The proportions. The grain of the wood. Her hands brushing over it, eyes lighting up.
“Angled legs,” I say. “So it doesn’t sink into the grass.”
“And a lip along the back,” Jude adds. “Keep the arrangements from sliding.”
I grin. “That would work.”
“This is…” He trails off, then smiles softly. “This is nice.”
“It is,” I agree.
Footsteps pull my attention.
She appears first. She’s wearing one of Jude’s old T-shirts, long enough to brush her thighs. Her hair is damp, curling softly around her shoulders.
Her skin looks brighter, flushed in a way that has nothing to do with heat and everything to do with being cared for.
She looks rested.
She looks like she belongs.
Dorian follows her down, still in boxers, hair damp, hand resting at her lower back like it’s instinct now.
“Hey,” I say.
She smiles at me, eyes warm. “Everything smells so good.”
We sit. She shifts, trying to find a comfortable position, discomfort crossing her face.
I grab a pillow, tell her to stand, and slide it onto her chair. “Here.”
She looks at me like I just handed her the moon. “Thank you.”
I lean in and kiss her. I can’t help myself.
She lets out a little whimper.
“Sorry!” I say before pressing another quick kiss to her lips. When I pull back, she has a smile on her face.
Jude hands her a plate of food before passing another one to Dorian.
“Better?” Jude asks.
“Yes,” Norah says in between bites of her food. “This is so freaking good.”
She’s a lot hungrier than I expected.
Conversation drifts. The market. The mayor. The delay with the community hall. She asks, hesitant, if anyone in town knows where she’s been.
I smile. “Your truck’s been parked here for almost a week. And Wren’s running the shop. I’m pretty sure they at least have an inkling of where you have been.”
“It doesn’t help that even after that shower, you somehow still smell like us,” Jude says.
“And you’re covered in our marks, too. So, yes, sweetheart. They might have a clue,” Dorian adds.
Her cheeks pink instantly. She ducks her head.
She’s beautiful. She’s so fucking perfect.
And the thought lands in my chest, quiet and terrifying and certain.
I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.
I slide a piece of toast onto a plate, butter melting in the heat, and glance at Norah. She’s poking at the eggs but not really eating, fingers tracing the edges of the plate like she’s waiting for permission to speak.
“Hey,” I say, softer this time. “You good?”
She looks up at me, eyes bright. “I’m… I don’t know. Just overwhelmed. Everything smells amazing, you guys did so much—” She trails off, eyes flicking between us.
Jude leans forward on his elbows, glasses slipping again. “We didn’t do much. Just made sure you didn’t have to lift a finger this morning.”
“You’re lying,” she says, voice teasing. “I know you didn’t do much, Ryker.”
“Hey!” I say, raising a hand, grinning. “I cooked eggs. I made you a whole breakfast. That’s more than some Alphas can claim.”
She laughs, full and giddy, and it hits me like sunlight. That laugh, the one that doesn’t hide behind sarcasm or caution—she hasn’t let us hear that in days. It’s contagious. I feel my chest loosen just a little.
“You’re prettiest when you laugh,” I say, laying my truth bare.
I’m hoping she catches the depth of what I just said. That I like making her laugh, that I want to be a part of why she keeps on laughing… for the rest of her life if she lets me.
She giggles again, biting her lip. “You’re ridiculous.”
She missed it, but judging by the look the other two men give me, they understand. In fact, I think they might feel the exact same way.
I slide the plate closer to her. “Eat something, or you’ll faint before you even see the stall we’re building.”
Her eyes widen, and she nearly drops the toast. “Wait, what stall?”
Jude grins, finally letting a little excitement break his usually careful expression. “We’ve got leftover wood from this project we were working on. Ryker and I can put it together today. You could have your own display ready by two. You’d actually be able to take part in the market.”
Her face goes from confused to incredulous to pure giddy in about three seconds. Her hands clap together softly. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“We already decided,” I say, shrugging with mock-nonchalance. “We’re not going to make you haul flowers around with no stand. That’s silly.”
Her grin stretches, practically mischievous now, and she leans forward, kissing Jude on the cheek and then pressing one to my lips with a little squeak. Her fingers rest on my shoulders.
“You’re amazing,” she says. “All of you are.”
I can’t help the warmth blooming in my chest. “You’re welcome,” I murmur.
Dorian finally speaks. “Hey, could you drop me off in town later?” He’s quiet, but his gaze is fixed on her like it’s tethered there.
She grins at him, that soft, bright grin that lights up her whole face. “Of course.”
Jude chimes in with a smirk. “And you can keep my T-shirt,” he says, nodding at the one she’s wearing. “You’re gonna be in it for hours, anyway. I’ll see you at the stall soon, maybe when you’re set up and smiling like this again.”
She turns to him first, lips curving, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’d better be there,” she says playfully. Then she looks at Dorian, and before I even notice it, she’s leaning over to kiss him on the lips.
Then she looks at me. Her expression is pure sunshine, the kind that makes it impossible not to grin back.
“And you,” she says, pointing at me. She climbs onto the chair's edge like she’s about to launch herself across the table and presses her lips to mine.
I hold her for a beat longer than usual, because it feels easier, like everything I’ve been running from or toward over the last five days, wrapped into one person.
When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are pink, and she’s giggling in that light, reckless way that makes me want to build her a thousand stands just to see her smile.
“Two o’clock, then,” Jude says, tugging his glasses back up. “Stall’s yours. Buckets, flowers, everything.”
Her hands curl around her coffee mug like it’s a lifeline. “You’re going to make me the happiest girl in the market.”
“We’re making sure of it,” I say.